


Two Wolves

by Benjamin_Winter



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Breeding, Dominance, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fsub, Gratuitous Smut, Non-Graphic Violence, Smut, mdom, reluctance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:05:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benjamin_Winter/pseuds/Benjamin_Winter
Summary: When Soldier 76 and Widowmaker cross paths in Colombia, 76 is prepared to make his mark on his rival, changing Widow forever.A story told first from 76’s POV, then from Widow’s. Some action, some violence, some comedy, and a hell of a lot of sexiness.A commissioned story.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone who gives kudos has my heartfelt thanks. I do read all comments, so feel free to leave one.

          The Izquierdos. An upstart Colombian cartel that dealt mostly in cocaine and heroin. They were new to the scene, yet that didn’t stop them from being the most ruthless and cruel killers of them all. The absolute worst of the worst. The sort of scum the world needed a whole lot less of, the kind that kept vigilantes like Soldier 76 awake at night. With governments, corporations and other cartels _all_ wanting them gone, their days were numbered from the start, and though it took a special sort of awful to draw Soldier 76’s attention, unfortunately for them, the Izquierdos fit that bill.  
  
          76 looked to the sky and breathed a quick sigh. Criador, Colombia. A clear, well-lit night. The full moon seemed no less bright than the sun was just hours earlier, and 76 was almost surprised he didn’t hear any wolves howling at it, but he spent little time admiring it. The Izquierdos’ base of operations was a building on the run-down outskirts of the city, over in the mostly-abandoned warehouse district, but 76 knew far better than to blitz it and charge it head-on. 76 had donned a long, black cloak and deliberately stalked each and every alleyway surrounding the warehouse, mapping out the area for the interface of his visor. Most vigilantes didn’t live long, but he was fifty-six years old, and he was more than old enough and wise enough to know just how important preparation was.  
  
          Nearing the end of his groundwork, 76 stopped when he spotted a peculiar pile of refuse, made up of bags, cans, and other trash. Its position, right in the center of the alley, seemed to be a little _too_ well placed. He crept towards it carefully, watching his step, and kneeled beside it. He flipped down the hood of his cloak and put a finger to the side of his visor, and when he switched on the short-range heat-tracking, sure enough, a glow of warmth began to visually radiate from beneath the refuse. Slowly, he picked up each bit of trash and set it aside. When he took away the last piece, he found exactly what he’d hoped for. A tall vial of purple, cloudy gas latched to a six-legged, touch-sensitive device. A venom mine. 76 smiled beneath his mask at the sight of it.  
  
          76’s intel had told him she might come here, but it was a relief to confirm that with his own eyes. Amélie Lacroix. _“Widowmaker.”_ Thirty-three years old. French. Assassin. Blue-skinned. A true _femme fatale_ if there ever was one. Twisted and warped by the terrorist group Talon, taken from her home, made unfeeling, insensitive, and infertile in a lab, and reconditioned until they’d broken her into a weaponized human. They turned Amélie into probably the deadliest woman on the face of the earth, but that didn’t have Soldier 76 wavering. Widow was worth the danger. He couldn’t ever reverse _everything_ Talon had done to her, no, but he _could_ rebirth her, make her anew. A phoenix rising from the ashes.  
  
          76 had been after Widow for a long, long time, but, finally, she was within his reach. But she’d work quick, and he would have to work quicker. Thankfully, 76 had come prepared for Widow. With the syringe-injector and the pouch holding a special robotic chip both attached to his belt, he was ready to make his mark on her.  
  
          A red exclamation mark flashed in the corner of 76’s interface, flashing alongside the timestamp, 11:30 P.M. The time in the Izquierdos’ schedule where’d they exchange shipments in their drug runs. He had to get moving. 76 shrugged off his black cloak, revealing his lean, thin stature, his heavy, blue-and-white jacket, black, pouch-lined pants, and his piercing, bright-red visor, and he drew his automatic rifle from the sling over his shoulder as he started in a jog off towards the Izquierdos’ warehouse.  
  
          76 peeked around a corner, gazing out at the warehouse at the far end of the alley, and not a moment too late. Two black SUVs with shining-chrome rims pulled up and parked before the warehouse’s hangar doors, illuminated only by their headlights and the few wall lights attached to the warehouse’s outer wall. 76 crept through the shadows as he made his way down the alleyway, watching as the warehouse’s doors were pulled open from within and two more SUVs drove out from its interior. The four vehicles’ doors all swung open as cartel thugs emerged from them, and a half-dozen more strode out from the open building, all wielding weapons ranging from revolvers to pump-action shotguns to compact submachine guns. They chatted and laughed as they moved a series of wooden crates from one pair of SUVs to the other. Strangely, the Izquierdos’ kingpin, Severo Lujano, was nowhere in sight, but there was a man who fit the profile for the Izquierdos’ second-in-command, Severo’s only son, Cedro. Long and curly black hair, a golden-toothed grill, and a small scar on his chin. It was Cedro, undoubtedly. They called Cedro the Criador Cutter, and 76 wished he didn’t know the reason why. Cedro wasn’t 76’s target, but 76 wasn’t about to let that man make it to the morning either. Like father, like son.  
  
          76 turned his head up and scanned the edges of the rooftops around him, but there were too many possible sniper nests for her to roost within, too many shadows to hide under. Widow could’ve been anywhere.  
  
          The barrel of a gun pressed into the back of 76’s neck.  
  
          “Drop the gun, pendejo,” a man growled at him.  
  
          76 dropped his rifle and let it clatter noisily on the pavement, and a pair of hands immediately snatched it away. The gunman prodded 76’s neck again. “Walk.”  
  
          76 raised his arms and started forward, walking into the light of the four SUVs. The Izquierdos did a double-take when they saw him, but the brief fear that flashed in their eyes was quickly replaced by smugness, and they crossed their arms as they smirked. When 76 came to stand before Cedro, the thug behind 76 rammed his back with the butt of his own rifle, hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs, forcing him onto his knees with a short, pained grunt.  
  
          “What’s your name, amigo?” Cedro asked him as he squatted down, flashing him a grin of golden teeth.  
  
          “Seventy-six,” he answered flatly.  
  
          Several of the Izquierdos looked to each other when they heard 76’s accent. “Americano,” one of them muttered before spitting on the pavement next to him.  
  
          “What, you some _super spy_ or something?” Cedro mocked him as he turned to each of his comrades and laughed with them. “ _Double-O-Seventy-Six?_ ” Then, suddenly, Cedro’s laughing smile twisted in a menacing scowl, and he glared at 76 with manic eyes as he brandished a long-barrel revolver from its holster on his belt. “No, tell me your _real name,_ cabron,” he snarled at 76 as he pointed the revolver at him.  
  
          76 said nothing.  
  
          “Tranquilo, eh?” Cedro quipped. “Quiet guy? You know, my Papa’s pretty good at making silent birds sing. He’s kind of made a _career_ out of it.”  
  
          “Then take me to him,” 76 said.  
  
          “Well, of course, amigo, if you say so.” Cedro stood to his feet and turned his back to 76—only to spin back and strike 76 hard upside the head with his revolver, briefly blurring his vision and dotting it with stars. “You think I’m fucking stupid, cabron?” Cedro snarled. “That’s exactly what you’d want, isn’t it? To take you to my Papa and let you pull some crazy Overwatch superhero shit when I least expect it? No, no, see, this is what’s happening: you’re going to tell me your name, or you’re going to die right here, right now.” Cedro put the barrel of his revolver to 76’s forehead and put his finger over the trigger. “Three seconds, cabron,” Cedro growled. _“Three. Seconds.”_  
  
          Somehow, even knowing the gun was held at _him_ and not the other way around, 76 had a feeling Cedro was the one who wouldn’t be making it to the count of three.  
  
          “One . . .”  
  
          “Two . . .”  
  
          “Three.”  
  
          A gunshot rang out.  
  
          Cedro collapsed in a dead heap. Instantaneously scanning the angle of his entry wound and the disturbance in the air the high-caliber bullet left, the interface of 76’s visor pinpointed the shooter on the map he’d plotted out. A rooftop, just two blocks down. A sniper. Widowmaker.  
  
          In a blur of motion that would’ve been lost in the blink of an eye, 76 darted up onto his feet, elbowed the man behind him, snatched back his rifle, dashed for cover behind the furthest SUV, and leveled his rifle.  
  
          The gunfire was near-deafening. The Izquierdos shouted Spanish curses and screamed orders and commands to each other, but they couldn’t coordinate themselves, and they were buried beneath a storm of lead and death. 76 dropped his targets with three-shot bursts to the chest, center-mass, safe, efficient, and fatal. Widow killed with shots between the eyes, accurate, ruthless, and deadly. Whizzing bullets made the air sing as stray rounds ricocheted off the pavement in explosions of bright, blinding sparks.  
  
          When the last of the Izquierdos crumpled to the ground, unknowingly making 76 and Widow’s jobs much easier for them, Severo Lujano stormed out of the warehouse wearing nothing more than a gold chain necklace sporting the solid-gold letters _S.L._ and a pair of flower boxer shorts, wielding a large, gold-plated revolver also vainly engraved with his initials.  
  
          “You take my son from me, hijos de puta?” he roared as he flailed his arm and wildly fired off his revolver. “Tu madre es una _puta fea!_ Yo cago en la leche de tu _puta_ _madre!_ Vete a la verga—”  
  
          —Widow silenced him.  
  
          76 stood to his feet and reloaded his rifle, its red-hot barrel wisping a trail of smoke. He strode over to the corpses of Severo and Cedro, who lied side-by-side, when he heard something land with a thud on the roof of the nearest SUV. Slowly, he turned to face her.  
  
          She stood atop the SUV on long legs, tall and confident, clutching her rifle and garbed in her tight, violet skinsuit, which escaped the firefight completely unblemished. The high heels of her metallic boots made her thick thighs push upwards into her heart-shaped ass, giving her rounded rump a perkier, shapelier look. The cut of her top stopped only just above her navel, baring a great deal of her blue-skinned cleavage and leaving very little of her sizable breasts to the imagination. The hue of the red eyes of her headpiece glowed bright in the night, and her visage was in a constant scowl, her golden eyes cold and uncaring, her full, plump lips curled downwards in a half-frown, half-pout. Her blue-black hair, smooth and silken, was tied in a long tail that flowed behind her, far past the small of her back and her flared, womanly hips. The firefight already had 76’s blood boiling, but as he took in the sight of Widow, somehow his heart raced even harder. The Izquierdos were only half the reason he came here, after all.  
  
          Without speaking a word, Widow athletically somersaulted down to the pavement and stood over Severo and Cedro. She tilted her head down and raised her hand to her headpiece, and 76 heard a series of soft _clicks_ as Widow snapped photos of the Lujano father and son, no doubt to confirm their deaths for Talon and to stick that _deceased_ tag on their files.  
  
          “Nice shooting,” 76 said to her as he paced around her and eyed her up and down, following her curves with his gaze. “Nice ass, too,” he muttered under his breath. He was tempted to give Widow’s butt a good, appreciative spank for bailing him out like she did, but he decided against it. _Soon,_ he thought, appeasing himself. _Very soon._  
  
          “Va te faire enculer, vieil homme,” Widow uttered coldly, not bothering to face him.  
  
          76 tilted his head. “Uh . . . pardon?”  
  
          “Not interested,” she told him as she snapped another photo.  
  
          “Oh, come on,” 76 chuckled gruffly. “Don’t be like that.”  
  
          As Widow snapped a few more photos, 76 slowly moved his hand to the injector on his belt—but a hail of gunfire rained on them before he could touch it.  
  
          The SUV nearest 76 and Widow was loudly riddled with a line of bullets, even more so than it already was. A rival cartel with piss-poor timing, seemed like. 76 didn’t really care _who_ was pulling the triggers. Taking fire from all sides, he and Widow ducked their heads and fled for cover into the empty warehouse. Inside, 76 turned to Widow, but before he could speak, she fired off her grappling hook and zipped up to a catwalk overlooking the warehouse’s hangar doors. “Guess I’ll be the front line, then,” he grumbled.  
  
          76 took cover behind a tall-standing tower of white bricks of cocaine about ten yards from the doors. 76 didn’t have much faith in cocaine’s ability to stop bullets, and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be good enough, but he saw no other cover to use. Thoughts of what he ought to do flew through his mind in a flurry, and when he saw the bright high-beams of several vehicles draw near the hangar doors, he turned to Widowmaker up on the catwalks. She was perched behind a stack of rebars, looking down her sights with her rifle trained on the doors, content to let 76 be her short-lived human shield.  
  
          “I’m kind of a sitting duck down here!” 76 yelled to her.  
  
          Widow gave no answer.  
  
          “You already bailed my ass out once! No harm in doing it again!”  
  
          Another moment of silence.  
  
          _“Come on!”_ 76 shouted.  
  
          A notification flickered in 76’s interface. A request to open comms and link interfaces. He gave a sigh of relief when he saw it. When he confirmed it, he heard her voice, cold but commanding, “No one can hide from my sight.”  
  
          76 turned to the hangar doors, and with Widow’s Infra-Sight, there he saw the blood-red outlines of three dozen gunmen fast approaching from beyond the walls of each side of the hangar doors. He raised his hand to the side of his visor and toggled a switch. The reddish-orange light of his visor suddenly burned bright, and he grinned as he said, “Tactical Visor activated.”  
  
          The gunmen were dropped the very instant they came into sight past the hangar doors. 76 whipped his rifle and head from one side to the other, locking onto his marks and felling them with instantaneous lethality. A dozen dead, then a dozen more. When the remaining gunmen wised up to the fact that charging the open hangar doors wasn’t exactly a great tactic, they smartened up, and they flattened themselves against the walls and held out only their arms and their guns as they blind-fired into the warehouse. Their bullets pierced 76’s makeshift cover all the way through, kicking up clouds of powdered cocaine that coated 76 in a layer of white dust. Times like those had him grateful for his mask and its air filter.  
  
          When a bullet grazed the top of 76’s head and whisked a lock of his white hair, he clutched his rifle to his chest and let himself slide down onto his bottom. Just one lucky shot could put him six feet under.  
  
          “I’m pinned here,” he grunted.  
  
          “I’ve got them,” Widow said softly, _“C'est la fin.”_  
  
          76 heard her fire a series of twelve shots, each interspersed by exactly one second, and with her last shot, the gunfire fell to silence. 76 peered around his cover and found the warehouse walls dotted with twelve holes. Widow had shot them through the wall. There was no cover safe from her. With the last of the gangsters dead, the air fell to silence, and no matter how times he experienced it, the dead silence that followed a deafening firefight was always strange to 76’s ears. It was eerie, foreboding.  
  
          76 heard Widow’s heels hit the floor with an audible _clop._ “I’ve been doing this a long time,” 76 began, “But _this,”_ he said as he patted the white powder off of his jacket and pants and ruffled it out of his hair, “This is a first.”  
  
          Widow silently plugged a new clip into her rifle, unamused.  
  
          “We make a good team,” 76 said to her.  
  
          “We are no team,” she uttered, and she calmly sauntered past him, down towards the warehouse doors. He had to act or she’d be gone.  
  
          76 raised his hands to his face, and he flipped down his visor and pulled down his mask. “You’re right,” he said as he strode after her. When he reached her, he grabbed her arm, knowing she’d turn to him, and when she did, he put his hand to her cheek, locking her gaze against his. Her cold eyes flashed with shock and wonder when she looked upon his bared face, that which she’d never seen. 76’s visage was a piercing one, one of stoic blue eyes, strong jaw, and two poorly-healed but distinguishing scars, one across the lip, the other across the bridge of his nose from brow to cheek. His face told the story of his life, battle-hardened and world-weary but vigorous and virile. He was a man of many years, but he was still very much alive and spirited. “We’re not a team,” he repeated icily as he stared through her, looking into and far past her eyes, his lips hovering just inches over hers. “Because we’re not equals. I’m the commander, and you’re the soldier.”  
  
          Widow opened her mouth to speak, but 76 swiftly moved his hand from her cheek to her lips, silencing her.  
  
          “No talking,” he said. “Your superior’s speaking.” Then, without warning, 76’s other arm suddenly wrapped around the small of Widow’s back, coiling around her slender waist as he pulled her towards him. “We’re a pair of wolves, you and me,” he told her, his voice low and gruff, almost growling. “And I’m the alpha. Do you know what that makes you?”  
  
          76 heard her gulp. He had her. There was no going back, not anymore.  
  
          76 lowered his hand from her mouth and grabbed the injector from his belt—but blaring police sirens shattered the silence, and they grew loud fast. 76 turned to the hangar doors, and Widow slipped out of his arms and dashed off.  
  
          “Don’t bother fighting it,” he shouted after her, and a knowing half-smile curled around his scarred lip as he put back on his mask and visor. “You’ll just be tired when I catch you.”  
  
          Widow flipped down her headgear and sprinted down the dark alleys in galloping, not-so-graceful strides, running as fast as her long legs would take her. Her usually-cool cheeks were flushing with heat, and her mind was swimming with foreign thoughts and alien desires. The burning gaze of 76’s eyes had awakened things in her, some she hadn’t felt in years, others she had never felt at all.  
  
          Widow gave a fearful twitch when music suddenly began playing in her ears, a song foremost of a twanging sitar and a clapping cowbell, and in the corner of her interface came a notification with a _‘♫’_ symbol and the text _‘COME AND GET YOUR LOVE – REDBONE.’_  
  
_“Hell, hell, nothing’s the matter with your head, baby find it,_  
_come on and find it_  
_Hell with it baby ‘cause you're mine and you're fine_  
_and your lips so divine_  
_Come and get your love._  
_Come and get your love.”_  
  
          She’d forgotten to unlink her comm and UI from 76’s. Widow raised a hand to her helmet, but she grimaced when the interface wouldn’t respond to her touch. The sitar had begun echoing in her mind when the song abruptly stopped, only to be replaced by another with another line of text taking the place of the old, ‘ _TIME OF THE SEASON – THE ZOMBIES,’_ as the sitar and cowbell were replaced by a riffing bass and throaty, erotic breaths.  
  
_“What’s your name?_  
_Who’s your daddy?_  
_Is he rich like me?_  
_Has he taken,_  
_any time,_  
_to show you what you need to live?”_  
  
          Widow sprinted faster. The dark buildings were a blur of motion around her, and her own breathing was as loud in her ears as the music. When the song blissfully came to its end, to Widow’s surprise, no other song took its place. Silence at last. She turned a corner and flattened herself against the wall, and only then did she realize that her slowed heart had been beating a bit faster. Had she really just . . . _felt_ something? How? And what was it she felt?  
  
          Widow let herself be perfectly still for a long moment, calming her strangely rattled nerves, taking deep breaths through her nose and exhaling them through her pursed lips.  
  
          Then, after minutes had passed, Widow turned the corner again, only to bump herself into Soldier 76, who stood before her.  
  
          “Daddy’s home,” he said.  
  
          Before Widow could react, 76 pushed the barrel of his syringe-injector into her neck, and a needle pricked her as he pulled its trigger. _“Connasse!”_ she cursed – though it was notably timid and lacked any real bite – and she put her hand gingerly over her neck when 76 pulled the injector away. “What did you do to me?” she asked him in a flurry of words, her voice thick with her accent.  
  
          “I did you a favor,” 76 said as he again took away his mask and visor, letting their gazes meet once more. “I made you a woman again.”  
  
          A heat roiled and seethed in Widow’s core, and she looked down and put her hands to where she felt it, just below her navel. It felt like it was in her very womb. The heat became incredibly intense, and Widow groaned in discomfort, but then, not a moment later, the heat vanished, leaving a pleasant, tingling warmth in its wake. When she looked back to 76, she found him grinning lecherously. He began to pace forwards, forcing her to backpedal down a slender, silent alley, until her back was against a cold wall.  
  
          “That feeling you felt while you were running from me,” 76 began as he closed the gap towards her, “That was your urge to submit.”  
  
          “No,” Widow whispered weakly.  
  
          _“Yes,”_ 76 growled, his voice much stronger and more authoritative than hers. He snatched her helmet from her head and her rifle from her shoulder and tossed them both away, atop his own gear, which Widow hadn’t even noticed 76 had dropped. When Widow looked again to her tingling womb, 76 grabbed her chin and forced it upwards, returning her eyes to his. “Talon made you think you’re a woman of steel, but you’re not. You’re a soft girl, Amélie . . . and you need a man.”  
  
          “What . . . what did you just call me?”  
  
          “Your name,” he answered bluntly. _“Amélie._ I’m not calling you Widowmaker,” he said, shaking his head. “And do you know why?” he asked, but he didn’t bother giving her the chance to answer. “Because that’s what _other_ men call you. That’s what they know you as. And I’m not other men. I’m your commander. I’m your alpha. And you’re mine.”  
  
          With that, 76 pushed his strong frame against Widow’s and forcefully pressed his lips against hers. He grabbed her and tilted her head, giving himself a better angle to take her. The tingling warmth in Widow’s womb seemed to grow much more pleasant then, those strange desires in her mind burning much hotter, and her eyes fell closed as she opened her soft lips for 76, letting him invade her mouth and push his tongue against hers, kissing her deeper, and she moaned joyfully as he kissed her with lust and passion. She submitted herself to him wholly and utterly as he danced his tongue over hers, letting their saliva join and mingle, marking her essence with his own. There were no thoughts of independence in her mind, not any longer. Her alpha had her, had his prey clutched in his jaw, and she was eager for her alpha to do to her anything and everything he wanted.  
  
          76 slid his hands down Widow’s back and glomped them onto her hefty ass over her tight skinsuit, letting her heavy cheeks fill his hands. “That’s mine,” he growled into their kiss as he squeezed and groped her, kneading her shapely, bountiful butt, playing with her body however he desired.  
  
          “Yes,” Widow whispered back. It _was_ his. She wouldn’t ever deny it. Any resistance she once had was long dead. Though she didn’t fully understand it, she was a different woman. A different person.  
  
          76 gave each of her butt’s cheeks a series of quick but sharp spanks, but he moved on before long, and Widow gasped when one of his hands slipped between her legs, cupping her hot crotch in his hand. “Whose is it?” 76 asked in another growl as he slid his forefinger back and forth across the heat of her cunt.  
  
          “Yours,” Widow whispered. She wished her damn suit of hers wasn’t in the way. She wanted to feel his finger _on_ her—no _inside_ her.  
  
          76 moved his mouth and planted wet, growling kisses along Widow’s neck, all while still teasing her with his finger. “Do you wish that finger was inside you?” 76 asked, somehow reading her thoughts.  
  
          “Yes,” Widow said meekly.  
  
          “Or maybe you want . . . something else?” 76 chuckled.  
  
          76’s twat-teasing had Widow thoughtlessly altering her stance, her thick thighs slightly opening, but she gave a girlish whine when he abruptly stopped and pulled back his hand. He grabbed her shoulders and gently urged her down. Widow knew what he wanted, and she gave no objection as she happily dropped to her knees.  
  
          Widow grabbed the buckle of his belt, but 76 swatted her hand away. Confused, she looked up at him with timid, sheepish eyes. “Zipper,” he commanded her. She returned her gaze to his crotch and gently yanked down his zipper in one stroke, and she reached her hand into the open seam, fishing her hand through his black boxer briefs until she found what she searched for. She coiled her slender, girlish fingers around the shaft of his long cock, already stiff and already hot to the touch, flushed with lust and blood. A few tugs and shifts later she’d freed him from his pants, and her eyes widened as she finally laid eyes on it, a member long but girthy, eager to be pleased by its bitch, and Widow was eager to make its desire come true. She tugged him at his base, getting him as hard as he can be, but again 76 swatted her hand, and again she peered up at him. “No hands,” he told her.  
  
          Widow let her hand fall to her side as she opened her mouth and brought it towards him, puffing her hot breath over his crown. Slowly – but with no hesitation – she lolled out her wet tongue and let it brush against his cockhead, and it twitched happily at her touch. She gave his head long, languid licks up and down, prompting a drop of pre-cum to ooze from his slit, which Widow gleefully lapped away, extremely eager to goad more from him. She shifted her mouth and brushed her tongue down him from crown to base, working every inch of his shaft, showering his length with devoted, loving licks. But she knew he wanted more, and she wouldn’t make him wait. She reared back and leveled herself again with his crown, and she wetted her lips with her tongue before puckering them and pushing them down his cock, taking first his head into her mouth, which she kept pressed against her hot tongue, and then the rest of him, taking all of his length between her lips, till his cockhead pressed against the very back of her throat.  
  
          Widow took him down masterfully, without a single gag, and she quickly set to work, bobbing her head down 76’s cock, keeping her puckered lips squeezed around him and her moist tongue pressing and flicking against him, showering him with all the pleasure she could muster for him, and she was thrilled when she heard 76 groan like he did. “That’s . . . _good,”_ he grunted, taken off-guard by her sudden show of skill. But there was still more 76 wanted from Widow, as he reached down with a hand and roughly pulled open the seam of her suit’s slutty low-cut, freeing her blue breasts with a fleshy bounce and jiggle. 76 then quickly de-gloved himself and tossed them away before taking a full handful of her tit, groping and squeezing her. He took turns cupping each of her perky, sizable breasts, giving them a bounce here and there, and he gave her dark, stiff nipples a few sharp pinches, each sending a cold shiver down Widow’s spine. He gave a pleased grunt as he fondled her, admiring the immaculate smoothness and youthfulness of each well-shaped breast, a skin so far removed from his own rugged and well-aged flesh. But their age difference didn’t faze Widow. If anything, it made her loins _hotter_ , made them ache _more_. She knew full well that the strongest alphas picked only the most prime and youthful mates.  
  
          Minutes passed as Widow made 76’s cock shine wet with her spit. Neither wished for it to ever end, and both savored their joy and delight, 76 relishing the pleasure of Widow’s lips and tongue and Widow simply relishing the pleasure of serving. Widow kept her plump lips sealed tight around 76, letting not a single bubble of air or drop of saliva escape her suckling, and the act itself was near-silent, though the quiet was made up for with Widow’s mewling moans and 76’s throaty groans. She put her hands to each side of his hips to keep herself steady and her mouth properly aligned as she pushed her lips faster and faster down his length, pressing her tongue firmer on the underside of his cock. She face-fucked him hard and quick, still without gagging or retching, but when 76’s legs tensed, he put his hands to Widow’s head and halted her. “Stop,” he said, his chest heaving as he fought off his end. Widow already then knew what it was 76 wanted, and she was more than eager to give it to him. She drew her lips off of his spit-slicked cock in one slow, final stroke and gave his crown a loving kiss before spinning and lowering herself onto her hands on knees, raising her full, shapely ass high into the air.  
  
          Widow considered stripping out of her suit then and there, but she figured her alpha would want the honors, and as 76 got down onto his knees behind her and grabbed at her suit, she was pleased to see herself proved right. He grabbed her skinsuit just above the crack of her ass and pulled hard, loudly ripping the fabric in two, rending and ruining it, and Widow couldn’t have cared less. But 76 didn’t fully strip her, no, he only pulled it open as far as was needed to free the entirety of his bitch’s big, curvy butt, revealing her perfect, pink pussy that sat nestled between smooth and hairless blue folds. Her wet pussy shone in the bright moonlight, and Widow moaned and watched over her shoulder as 76 pulled apart the cheeks of her vast ass to get a better look at it. Her thick flower bloomed at his close gaze, opening to his eyes, a soaked and inflamed gash that had long been good and ready for him, hot with arousal and glimmering with moisture. Satisfied to see how prepared her body was for his manhood, 76 scooted his knees a bit closer to his bitch, and he held and guided his cock with one hand and grabbed Widow’s shoulder and steadied her for him with the other. They gasped together when his thick cockhead first kissed her cunt’s sticky lips, but 76 didn’t stop his motion, and he pushed his cock forward, sliding first his crown through her tight lips and into her hot gash, and then sliding home the rest of his length, sheathing every last inch within her.  
  
          Widow moaned again when 76 gave a long, delighted sighed as he hilted himself inside her hot depths. She could feel his pleasure. His already-shuddering cock swelled even thicker, forcing apart the snug walls of her tight cunt. She was warm like an oven, a hot, wet sheath to squeeze and snuggle 76’s cock, the perfect hole to sate her alpha’s lust. Another few beads of pre-cum were pushed up his length and forced out of his slit, only to be lost in the sea of Widow’s feminine moisture. She was hopeful it wouldn’t be the last of the seed he’d be gifting her. Widow’s loins had starting burning then, and she clenched herself down on 76, squeezing him tightly inside her tunnel, eager for her him to rut her like the bitch she was, to dominate her like the alpha she knew him to be, but still he stayed motionless. She looked to his eyes with a begging, pleading gaze, and when his eyes met hers, he leaned down and took her into another kiss, a kiss Widow eagerly returned, letting his tongue play with hers, but 76 kept this embrace brief, and when he pulled his lips from hers, he glared into Widow’s eyes with that same look of sternness and intensity. It was a look Widow had come to crave, a look she’d crave _forever._  
  
          “Who’s your Daddy?” he asked her, his voice low and guttural.  
  
          “You,” she whispered without hesitation. _“Tu es mon papa . . . tu es mon alpha.”_  
  
          76 lowered his mouth again, not to Widow’s lips, but rather to her neck, and he bit her, _hard,_ hard enough to mark her. She was his then. Then and forever.  
  
          76 reared back and finally, at last, slowly withdrew his length from his bitch’s pussy, his shaft now shining more from Widow’s sopping cunt than her wet tongue, and he brought his hands in a sharp spank down on Widow’s rump as he thrusted back inside. He slapped each cheek back and forth, making them wiggle and wobble as he started a steady, ass-clapping pace, ramming his hips into Widow’s jiggling ass as he fucked her good and hard, rocking her body with fast, powerful thrusts. Widow squealed and moaned as he took her, her still-bared breasts swaying beneath her. 76’s cock was a hot, iron lance spearing into her, and Widow could feel every last inch as his member vanishes from her depths only to quickly and violently force itself back in, never leaving her tunnel for more than a half-second at any time.  
  
          Though Widow had sucked him off mostly quietly, this was far from silent. 76 fucked and rutted his bitch loudly and proudly, slapping his pants noisily into her heavy ass and swatting her cheeks with echoing spanks. His grunts were loud, but Widow’s moans were louder, as every push and pull of the thick cock inside her hot, needy pussy made her loins sing with pleasure and her mind swim with bliss. She had thought herself immune to emotion, but showcasing her humility and submitting herself to her dominant alpha was filling her with a delight she hadn’t felt in—no, had _ever_ felt. She pushed her ass back into 76’s crotch again and again, meeting his thrusts halfway, wanting more of the pleasure his cock gave her, and 76 responded in kind by grabbing the long tail of her hair and yanking it back with every thrust, abusing and dominating her just as Widow craved it.  
  
          76’s grunts and gasps turned breathier and breathier, and Widow knew it all was overwhelming him, the pleasure of her snuggling pussy, the warmth and wetness of her hot depths, the squeezing of her tight tunnel, it was all too much for him to continue to weather. He’d groped every inch of her body, he’d fucked her hard and he’d fucked her well, and he’d used her mouth and her cunt, both pairs of her lips. He’d used her body to sate his burning needs and he’d marked her with his teeth, and it was all coming to a close. Widow _needed_ to feel him finish. She _needed_ to feel him twitch inside her, to feel him fill her, to feel him fertilize the garden he’d brought to life and to seed his bitch like only the best alpha would.  
  
          Again seemingly reading the thoughts of his bitch – Widow wouldn’t put it past her alpha – 76 lowered his head down beside hers again. “Where do you want me to finish?” he asked her.  
  
          _“À l'intérieur!”_ she cried out. “Inside! Please!”  
  
          “Wasn’t going anywhere else,” he chuckled as he reared back.  
  
          With a final, masculine grunt, 76 hilted himself in Widow’s heat with one last thrust, and he grabbed her ass with both hands, sinking his fingers deep into her, getting a good handhold of her soft flesh as his orgasm crashed over him. He gave just one more groan from the very bottom of his lungs, and Widow cried out with him when she felt his member start to twitch out his gift to her, shuddering and wiggling out his load. His spurts of spunk came one after the other, again and again, and his white, cloudy cum flowed thick, making Widow’s depths sticky with his seed. He gave her all he could muster as the toe-curling pleasure pulled the very air from his lungs, filling Widow’s newly-fertile womb till it was heavy and sloshing with his virility. A pleasure not wholly physical but also emotional wracked Widow’s own core as 76 seeded her, giving her womb, the most feminine of her body’s flesh, the entirety of his ejaculate, the most masculine of his body’s essence. It was fateful and it was right, and their joined moans rang throughout the night sky.  
  
          76 collapsed atop his lover, utterly spent, resting his head against hers, his heaving chest slackened atop her. Widow slowly lowered herself from her hands and knees down onto the ground, taking 76 with her, letting them lie together and share their heat. A part of Widow wanted to flip onto her back so she could face him, but a much larger part of her longed to keep 76’s manhood sheathed inside her, and she closed her eyes and let herself lie there on her stomach, sighing happily.  
  
          Her eyes snapped open when she felt 76’s lips on her cheek, and she quickly turned her head and let him take her into a chaste, loving kiss. But she knew all good things sadly had to come to an end, and 76 soon pulled his lips from hers and withdrew himself from her tunnel, which still had not yet begun to drool white. He had filled her deep. 76 stood to his feet and tucked his softening dick into his pants and pulled up his zipper, good as new and ready to roll. Widow rolled onto her back and lied there lazily and happily as 76 pulled away the glove of her right hand and took a small metal chip from a pouch along his belt. He grabbed her ring finger and carefully pressed the chip into her, about an inch above her knuckle, exactly where a wedding ring would go, and to Widow, that’s exactly what it might as well have been. When it felt her bare flesh, the intelligent chip made a shallow, bloodless nick and slipped harmlessly into her finger. She didn’t bother asking what it was. It wasn’t her place to question him.  
  
          “Tracking chip,” 76 explained to her. He gave her hand a loving kiss before gently slipping each of her fingers back into her glove. “Now, when I want you, I’ll come for you,” he said as his hand left hers. “And I’ll be wanting you again soon, Amélie. Count on that. You going to make me chase you again next time?” he asked her, smiling.  
  
          Widow shook her head, looking up at him with timid, dewy eyes, smiling right with him. How long had it been since she’d last smiled? She didn’t know. Forever, it seemed like.  
  
          “Good.” 76 got on his knee and gave her lips one last quick kiss before standing back to his feet. “Now why don’t you lay down for a while,” he told her softly. “Be a good girl and let the seed sit.”  
  
          Widow nodded sweetly. She wouldn’t move an inch until she was sure it took inside her.  
  
          76 grabbed his gloves and his gear from the ground and slung his rifle back over his shoulder. But before he slipped his visor and mask back on, while he could still meet her eyes and lock gazes with her, 76 turned to Widow one last time. “By the way,” he began, “The name’s Jack.”


End file.
